The Art of Fucking Up
It was my second day at The Body Shop when the receptionist called my phone and said, "Anita is in reception for you." From that moment on I knew something wasn’t quite right.
To the beautiful, talented, broken creative people that worked at The Body Shop, this piece is dedicated to you:
The copy guy could often be found wandering the streets of Lewes in his soaking wet anorak on Veganuary mornings. Talking with legal on a loop about what he couldn’t do, say, write or think. He was the most talented, passionate writer I have ever met. Devoted to The Body Shop, the poor guy was losing his mind and rightly so.
The Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog – Caspar David Friedrich
The super social trainer blogger who was hip-hop you don’t stop. When I started to work at The Body Shop it took seven weeks to get a post out on social media. By the time it was posted it was anti-social. Posting time was four days by the time I left. I loved that art director with all my heart. She made my world a fairer and more beautiful place single-handedly.
No Woman, No Cry – Chris Ofili
And then there were the unbeautiful untalented people.
To the line manager that was never "‘appy." He was so "unappy" he screamed loud and knocked over coffee. I have made a small tweak to the L'Oreal endline for you. "Because you are so not worth it" I might add Monsieur later. I haven't tweaked the L'Occitane endline, it's too unwieldy and boring to make fun of.
The Scream – Edvard Munch
And to the family member (no guesses as to why she was given a pop at running the creative department, momentarily) You let the sisterhood down gal!
The Bewitched Man – Francisco Goya
Finally, we went to Barbie. Barbie was only ever to be seen in her wallpapered home office in Kent. Her eyeshadow, fluffy slippers, Carhartt hoodie and leather skirt were all imperfect shades of pink. The smell of white musk seeped through the screen. Once you reported an issue it was filed away in her filing cabinet never to be replied to again.
I mean could it get any more ludicrous? It turns out it could. Administration. I went out with a finance (not fiancé, he corrected me on Whatsapp) friend of mine for some retail therapy. He told me a wonderful story of two creative directors snowballing the administrators on a cold February morning in Soho Square.
Bath bombs, we didn't stock those of course, Lush did. We could always squirt strawberry bath and shower gel all over them. A 'live' Jackson Pollock installation on Tooley St. I am still up for that if anyone wants to join me. We could get some influencers involved. (There is no budget btw).
For a company that wanted to do good in the world we were fucking things up in departments on a global level. I will leave someone more business-minded at The Body Shop to write about that.
The Body Shop is a brand we all grew up with. Every person I speak to has a memory or a smell that reminds them of their teenage years. I cannot tell you the amount of times people have shared their Body Shop nostalgic story with me. I loved listening to every single one of them. Established in 1976, Anita was a force for good. I tell you what, if Anita was with us she would be chained to the railings of the Oxford St store right now.
My heart is broken. Everyone who worked at The Body Shop wanted to save it. Wanted to do good and fight for a fairer, more beautiful world. We tried so fucking hard.
Anita if you are listening, they wouldn't let us.
I am crying now, gotta go.
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